


Sick Days and Storytimes

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: CoWorkers to Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Parallels, Reading Aloud, Sick Character, Sick CharacterS actually, Sickfic, Tim Bradford: Smitten Kitten, Tim pretends he cares, Vomiting, everyone gets a turn, except he definitely does actually care, he just doesn't know what to do with those feelings, if we want to split hairs, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: Lucy gets sick, and Tim takes care of her.Tim gets sick and Lucy takes care of him.Lucy gets sick again.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 36
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is ... quite possibly the goopiest thing I've ever written. it was only ever going to be a one-shot, I swear, but then I got more ideas, so now it's a three-shot and I have zero regrets about that.

“Tim, Tim, hang on. Pull over.” Lucy scrambles to grad the door handle and looks at him, eyes wide with panic. 

“What? Do you see some-” He’s looking out her window, trying to figure out what she’s asking him to stop for, since they’re not actively looking for a suspect, and nothing looks out of the ordinary to him. 

“No. _Pull over_.” She says it again, and this time there’s enough alarm in her voice that he listens, navigating the shop to a curb, just in time for her to unlatch her seatbelt, crack the door open and vomit into the gutter. 

“What the hell, Boot?” Tim winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, knowing that he should have come up with something more sensitive. He _wanted_ to come up with something more sensitive, but Lucy caught him off guard and he reacted on instinct. He watches Lucy retch twice more, then grope behind her for the bottle of water she keeps in the center cupholder. 

Tim grabs the water and presses it into her hand. 

“Need a napkin?” 

“No, I’m good.” She sits back up, lolling her head against the seat and groaning. “I mean, I’m not. Can we go back to the station? I don’t think I can finish the shift. Can I turn the AC on? I’m warm.” 

“Sure.” He doesn’t argue when she reaches for the temperature dial, and it’s the first indication that he’s concerned for her. “Sure you’re good for the ride? You throw up in the shop, I’m not letting you leave until you clean it up.” 

“Think so. I’ll tell you to pull over again if I need it.” 

“You do that.” 

They ride back to Mid-Wilshire in silence, Tim taking the streets he knows will have the fewest bumps and curves. He slows down for the turns, even on green lights, trying not to jostle his rookie any more than absolutely necessary. 

By a small miracle, they’re a block from the station, stopped at a stop sign without any cross traffic, when Lucy lurches forward again. 

“Tim-” 

“On it, get that door open.” She manages, leaning out of the car a second time as he turns the warning flashers on. He waits for her to reach backward again, and meets her with the water bottle before she has to grab blindly for it. “One more block, or you want to get out and walk?” 

Lucy groans, and it’s immediately clear that their normal banter is out the window. 

“Please, just drive.” 

“Alright. Harper’s on the desk today; need her to come walk you in?” 

“I think I can manage. Just have to tell Grey I need to call out and get an Uber.” 

“An Uber?” 

“I rode with Jackson today. It’ll be fine, I just want to go home and lay down.” 

“Yeah, you don’t need to be breathing on your sergeant if you’ve just thrown up twice. Who knows what you’ll spread around? You get out of the car, make it to the break room. Get a wet paper towel if you’re still feverish. I’ll talk to Grey, come square up with you on the Uber. Looking at screens probably isn’t going to help your stomach any.” 

None of it is a question, so Lucy doesn’t say anything as Tim parks the car. He waits for her to open her door and slide out before unbuckling his own seatbelt. She walks unsteadily across the parking lot, as he carefully stays a few paces behind her, in case she needs catching at any point, and points toward the breakroom as soon as they’re through the doors. 

“Go. I’ll come find you.” 

Tim had told her that he was going to talk to Grey, and he is, but he’s got a stop to make at the visitor’s desk first. 

“Officer Bradford.” Nyla looks up as his shadow casts itself across her keyboard. 

“Harper. Listen, Chen hurled while we were on patrol.” He’s not finished speaking yet, but the other training officer interrupts him anyway. 

“Decomp get the best of her?” She’s smirking, and Tim has to bite against the rage that burns in his throat. 

“No, she told me to pull over. Made it out of the car first, at least.” 

“And you’re telling me this … why?” She seems genuinely confused, and Tim can’t blame her. Oversharing isn’t usually his thing, but this time there’s a direct connection. 

“I’m going to talk to Grey, clear the rest of her shift. But she’ll probably need a ride home, which will have me out of service at least an hour. Think the desk can spare you to cover our district if Sarge is good with it?” 

“Yeah, Smitty should be good. Not like we’ve had a whole lot going on today.” 

“Good. I hate to run, but Chen’s in the breakroom and it’s probably just a matter of time before janitorial has to get in there and clean up after her.” He nods at Nyla and turns back toward the interior of the division, starting the short walk to Grey’s office. 

“Come in.” The commander looks up when Tim raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “Tim, what can I do for you?” 

“Chen needs to take off early today.” He knows better than to beat around the bush with Wade, is sure that the answer will be the same either way, and the sooner they get down to business, the sooner he can have Lucy signed out. 

“Did something happen to her on patrol?” 

“Yeah, she revisited her breakfast at 23rd and La Brea. And again about a block from here. She’s sick, she can’t work.” 

“Agreed. You good to finish your shift solo?” Tim knows that Grey is worried about Lucy – he worries about everyone under his watch – but it’s hard to tell from the way he looks back down at the stack of reports on his desk. 

“Actually, Sir,” Tim takes a step further into the office. “I was hoping I could ask you a favor.” 

Grey looks up, impatient. “Go ahead, no promises.” 

“I’d like to take the rest of the day off as well. Chen doesn’t have a ride home, and frankly the shop might need an extra once-over at the garage. Nothing got in the car, but there’s a bit of an odor, and the idea of riding in it all afternoon doesn’t excite me.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight between his feet, awaiting an answer, then tacks another thought onto his request. “I already talked to Harper, she said she’d be willing to cover for us this afternoon. Desk is slow, not likely to pick up, Smitty wouldn’t miss the manpower.” 

“You offering to play nursemaid, Bradford?” He almost seems amused at the idea of Tim taking care of his rookie. Or anyone, for that matter. 

“All due respect, Sir, I’ve probably got the most experience with puke outside of parents with babies. You know Isabel tried to detox twice before she moved out. If Officer Chen needs help getting home, it should be someone qualified to deal with whatever the situation may entail.” 

Grey’s expression shifts, like he might be getting ready to disagree, but Tim’s body language convinces him otherwise. 

“Fine. Officer Chen is lucky to have people who care about her. Both of you, take the day. Call me tonight and let me know if she’s likely to need tomorrow too.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tim turns to leave, but stops in the doorway. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Now go, before she throws up in my division.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

* * *

With their shift covered, Tim is able to go find Lucy in the breakroom. She’s sprawled across one of the hard plastic chairs, and the bits of hair that have come loose from her ponytail are plastered with sweat to her forehead. 

“Up, Boot.” Tim nudges her foot with his. “We’re leaving, c’mon.” 

While he waits for Lucy to stand up, Tim takes a water bottle from the fridge, just in case she needs to pull over on the ride home. 

“What?” She’s on her feet by the time Tim turns back around, holding lightly to the edge of the table. “We?” 

“Yeah, I’m off too. Whatever you’ve got, you gave it to me in the shop, so I’m off the streets until we’re sure neither of us is contagious. Grey said if you don’t have a fever tomorrow, we’re both in the clear.” 

Which isn’t actually the truth, nor is it medically sound, but Lucy is woozy enough not to notice. 

“Oh. OK.” She pauses, considering. “I never called an Uber.” 

“I know. I’m parked out back.” 

“OK.” She’s too exhausted to protest, like Tim knows she normally would, and it’s just another reminder how badly she must be feeling. 

Whatever’s ailing her, it must have come on fast. Tim thinks back through the morning as he leads her slowly out of the building, but he can’t pinpoint any indicators that Lucy wasn’t feeling well until she asked him to pull over. She'd maybe seemed tired, but Tim figured she was light on sleep, and not being the most well-rested sure isn’t a good enough reason to call in sick, especially as a rookie. But she hadn’t said anything about being nauseated, or feeling feverish, and he hadn’t noticed her looking ill. 

Regardless, it’s clear now, both to Tim and to any passersby, given how widely other officers steer clear as they walk by, that something isn’t right. He opens Lucy’s door for her, and she manages to climb into her seat without throwing up again. As Tim fastens his own seatbelt, he reaches for the clip in Lucy’s hand and clicks it in place, saving her from having to struggle any further. 

“Here’s the deal: same rules as the shop. You ralph, you clean.” But there’s less edge to his voice now than there was when they were on duty, even if they are both still in uniform. Your stuff’ll be there in the morning, and we’ll figure the rest out later. You need me to stop, say so sooner rather than later; you know LA traffic can be a bitch.” 

She nods weakly as he puts the truck into gear and backs out. 

It’s a slow and quiet drive home, Lucy reaching forward to adjust the air conditioner once but thinking better of it and looking to Tim for permission. 

“Whatever, Chen, make yourself comfortable.” 

The cab is half a step from an ice box, but her features relax a little bit, and if anything, the cold air sharpens Tim’s focus, helps him keep an eye out for potholes or debris that he might have to navigate around. He glances over at every red light and stop sign, trying to gauge if she’s likely to need him to stop abruptly, but they’re pulling into his driveway before he’s even realized where he was driving them to. 

_Probably for the better; as green as she’s looking, there’s no way she should be left alone right now, and Tim isn’t too keen on hanging out at his boot’s apartment all afternoon. It’s probably frilly and floral enough that he’d need to throw up too._

“Alright, out we get.” He kills the engine and unbuckles both seatbelts. “Need a hand?” 

“Down’s easier than up,” she mutters, more to herself than to him by the sound of it, opening the door and dropping herself gently to stand on the pavement. 

She trails Tim up to the front porch, leans on the railing while he fishes for the right key and opens the door. It takes her until Tim’s taken his boots off and lined them up with his two other pair of shoes in the foyer to realize where he’s brought her. 

“I can go home, it’s fine.” She’s swaying on her feet, though, and Tim reaches out to steady her by a shoulder. 

“What kind of TO would I be if I just ditched you on your stoop to be sick?” He glances at the couch, but reconsiders, trying to figure out where to settle Lucy that he won’t have to move her. 

His bedroom has the closest bathroom access, should she need to throw up again, and blackout curtains so that she can uncover her eyes and stop wincing against the light. The couch would have a coffee table to navigate around, and the bay window behind him doesn’t have blinds to close. The natural light is a great way to wake up in the morning, but Tim knows firsthand how hellish it is when you don’t feel well. 

So he turns back to Lucy, who hasn’t moved from the entryway, and reaches for her shoulder. 

“C’mon, here we go.” He steers her into his room, steadying her at the foot of his bed. Once he’s confident that she can stand without toppling over, or that the mattress will at least hopefully break her fall, he pulls open his bottom dresser drawer and fishes out a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt from the 5K Angela talked him into running the year they were rookies. 

He passes the clothes to Lucy, who holds them in one hand but makes no effort to move. Tim sighs and steps closer, reaching for the Velcro strap holding her duty belt around her waist. The added weight can't be making her equilibrium any steadier right now, so he pulls it off and sets it carefully at the foot of the bed, after taking her Glock out of its holster. 

The magazine drops into his hand when he pops the release, and the chamber slides back, dropping the first round into his hand. Tim sets it all on top of the dresser neatly, then clears his own weapon and places it on the other corner. 

Her vest is next, the only other piece of equipment Tim can help her remove without risking an HR complaint – provided that she’s coherent enough to remember all of this in 24 hours. 

“Arms up, Boot.” Tim helps her lift one arm, then the other, pulling the Velcro away from her ribcage as quickly as he can. She winces at the ripping sound and he looks up. “I know, but the faster it’s off, the faster you’re laying down.” 

Once the straps are unfastened, he pushes her back gently to sit on the foot of the bed so he can lift the vest over her head and lean it underneath her gun. He kneels down to unzip her boots, adding them to the pile and standing up as she flexes her toes to stretch them out. 

“Alright, think you can manage from here?” His hands rest on his own duty belt, until he remembers that he should change out of the uniform too. Yesterday’s jeans are still in the guest bathroom, he thinks, where he tossed them with the rest of his laundry pile (no guests means no need for a guest bathroom, and more space for dirty clothes than a hamper), and he grabs a tee of his own from the drawer as Lucy tries to focus enough to come up with a response. 

“Hmm? Y-yeah, you don’t need to undress me.” She leans back, but overbalances and topples to lay on her back. “Not yet, anyway.” 

Something about the way she says it makes Tim feel the heat rising in his own cheeks. Either the fever she might have given him is setting in early, or Lucy’s achieved the rare feat of making Tim Bradford blush. 

“Good. I’ll come check up in a few minutes.” He waits for her to nod, then pulls the door mostly closed – but not latched, in case he hears her fall and needs to move quickly – on his way out. 

He changes quickly, draping his uniform over a kitchen chair until he can hang it neatly in his closet, and recovers the bottle of water from the cupholder of his truck before it gets hot and sticky. By then, he figures Lucy has had enough time to change, even moving slowly. 

“You decent?” He knocks softly on the door, letting it fall open far enough that he can see her sitting on the foot of the bed, almost exactly where he left her. She’s upright now, though, and has managed to get the uniform off and his loaner clothes on. 

So it’s progress, even if her uniform is lying in a rumpled puddle by her feet. 

“Nice work. Ready to lay down?” She nods gratefully, then groans and presses a hand to her temple when the movement reels through her body. 

Tim puts the water on the bedside table, in easy reach if she needs it, and slides the trashcan to sit at the edge of the bed. Lucy still hasn’t moved, so he holds out a hand and lets her grab onto his wrist, like he’s going to pull her up from the ground. 

It's not too far off, he supposes, from the level of exertion it takes them both to get her shuffled up the mattress. He moves the covers back as she shifts, a practiced move that leaves her lying between the sheets as he pulls them back up over her. 

She snuggles in, and Tim takes a moment to notice how small she looks in his bed, younger and smaller than he can ever remember having seen her. Which is saying something, given that she’s over a decade younger than he is, and close to a foot shorter. But there’s something about the way she’s curled in, pulling his comforter up to her chin and pouting that brings out every protective instinct in Tim’s body. 

_He has to_ _look after_ _her._

So he leans forward, runs a hand down the end of the Lucy-shaped lump in the covers, smoothing them across her legs, then grins as he tucks the blankets around her feet. 

“Comfy?” He waits for her to nod, then stands up. “If you need me, yell.” 

He’s made it all the way to the doorway before she seems to process what’s going on, but he’s just put his hand on the knob when a tiny version of her voice comes from his bed. 

“Where you goin’?” He turns over one shoulder, but doesn’t let go of the door. She already sounds half-asleep, even groggier than she has been all morning as the comfort of a bed draws her in. 

“Just to the kitchen. I need a snack, and you need to rest.” The look on her face stops him though, and she whispers again. 

“Stay? What if I puke?” This time, he drops the handle and turns the rest of the way to face her, but he doesn't move back into the room any further. 

“Then I’ll hear you. Bathroom’s through the doorway; there’s a trashcan beside the bed.” She doesn’t respond, so he goes to leave again, but he can’t bring himself to turn back around. Lucy is staring at him, eyes wide and worried, and dammit, but Tim knows a losing battle when he sees it. 

“Just ‘til I’m asleep?” She yawns, and Tim figures he won’t have to hang around long, so he gives into the urge to sit on the edge of the mattress, down by her feet, and rest a hand on top of the covers where he knows her ankle is. 

“Fine, but you get me sick and I’m taking over your room next week.” He means for it to sound gruffer than it does, but she smiles at him anyway, and her words are slurred with enough sleep that Tim can’t be sure if she means to say anything out loud at all. 

“You can come see my room anytime.” Her eyes slide closed, but she flutters them back open. 

“Sleep, Boot. I’m getting hungry.” He squeezes his hand gently, waiting for her eyes to close again. 

They do, and when she hasn’t stirred for another five minutes, Tim figures he’s safe to get up. He moves carefully, trying not to wake Lucy up, and turns back to look at her from the doorway, scrutinizing to see that her chest is rising and falling steadily before he pulls the door closed, leaving it cracked again. 

_Just in case she needs him_. 

Tim heads out to the kitchen and fills a plate with cheese, crackers, and salami before settling down on his couch to watch whatever crap he can find on daytime television. 

He’s just made his peace with old _Varsity_ _Blues_ re-runs, barely figured out the plot of the episode he’s watching, when he hears retching from his bedroom. 

The noise startles him out of his seat, and he freezes momentarily, trying to shake the police instinct to reach for his sidearm, before he jogs for the doorway. 

“Bathroom’s through the door!” He knows he’d pointed it out earlier, but it’s the only thing he can think of to say as he makes his way through the house. 

The crack of Lucy’s knees on the tile floor echoes through the bathroom, but she manages to lean over the toilet before she starts coughing anything up. Not that there’s much left in her stomach to come back up, but after the first round of dry heaves, she leans against the side of the bathtub and starts crying, seemingly unaware of Tim’s presence. 

He’s horribly conflicted, torn between the urge to bend down and comfort Lucy, and the inherent vulnerability of the moment. She’s sick, crying in his bathroom, and he has no idea if she’d actually want him there or not. 

But before he can decide for himself, Lucy lurches forward, back over the toilet bowl, and starts all over again. She’s trying to push her hair out of her face, but the motions aren’t strong enough to hold it back for any length of time before the strands fall forward again. 

At least there’s something he can do to help with that. 

The next time her right arm flies backward, he catches her wrist and slips the ponytail holder into his own hand. She tries to turn around and look, probably to see who’s behind her, but she aborts the movement and leans forward to gag again. 

“Easy, Lucy, just me. This won’t be pretty, but it’ll work.” He’s combing his fingers through her hair, dividing it into sections and hoping he can rely on muscle memory. 

It’s coming up on two years since he braided anyone’s hair, and he was right – it's not pretty; the sections are uneven, the tension is off, but before long, her hair is in an awkward braid down her back. 

Tim is impressed with himself, surprised that he was able to manage any sort of hair-based success, but he supposes that he spent enough time just like this with Isabel while she tried time and again to detox. Finally, she gave up and left, and there wasn’t any more hair for him to braid, but it feels nice to know that he hasn’t forgotten the basics of taking care of someone important to him. 

Even if it is just a rookie who’s slowly weaseling her way into his affections. 

This time, when Lucy leans back, she ends up slumped half against his side. After a couple of heaving breaths, she reaches back to feel her hair, and looks up at him. 

“Tim?” There’s a dozen questions she asks with just his name, and he hears each and every one of them. 

“You know how much addicts puke when they go sober? Been there, done that. Least I could do is help keep it out of your hair.” 

“I ...yeah. Thanks.” She’s still leaning against him, and he can feel the fever radiating off of her in waves. Carefully, Tim is able to lean and stretch up to the counter and reach a paper cup to fill with a couple sips of water. 

“For what? Doing my job and looking out for my partner? Here,” he passes her the cup of water. “Swish and spit, then we’ll get you back to bed and I’ll find some cold and flu meds.” 

Lucy stares at the cup in her hands, but doesn’t drink any right away. 

“Take your time, but you’ve gotta rinse before you go back to bed. It’ll help, I promise.” He looks down and realizes that there are still tears running down her face. But she finally lifts the cup to her mouth, leaning away from his side to spit the sip into the toilet. Tim slides back to stand up, flushing the toilet as he rises, then offering his hands to help pull Lucy off of the floor. “Attagirl, ready to go lay down again?” 

She nods tearfully, and together they begin the slow trek back to his bed. This time, Tim only pulls the sheet over Lucy, leaving the comforter folded to the foot of the bed so she won’t overheat further. 

Lucy sniffles as she lays down, trying to wipe her face with her wrist until a tissue appears in front of her. 

He thinks about wiping the tears away for her, but the casual intimacy of it stops him. They’re on thin ice as it is, skating the line of what’s appropriate for a TO and rookie, and drying her tear-stained face is _definitely_ off toward the horizon. 

“Might be more absorbent than your skin.” Tim rolls his eyes but smiles when she takes the tissue and dabs at her cheeks. 

“Thanks.” she hiccups, but doesn’t reach for the trash can. “I-I can’t throw up without crying. Never have, doubt I ever well.” 

“Don’t sweat it. Feel any better for getting whatever it was out?” He calls in from the bathroom, where he’s rummaging through the cabinet for something to help with the fever. 

“A little.” She shrugs with one shoulder, a gesture Tim watches reflected in the mirror, but it’s small and fragile. “Achy. Hot, still.” 

He bites back a sarcastic remark about how she’s exactly as attractive now as she was before, knowing that it’s both inappropriate and too close to an honest compliment. But the bottle of Advil gives him something else to focus on as he shakes two tablets loose and fills another paper cup. 

“Being sick is like that.” He moves back to the bedside, dropping his voice to a softer volume. “These should help knock the fever, though, get you back on track.” 

“Mm.” She takes the pills without asking what they are, and Tim makes a mental note to remind her when she’s feeling better not to take pills she hasn’t identified, even from people she knows. 

For now, though, he’s glad to know that she trusts him enough to let him take care of her. 

If nothing else, her complacency makes it easier than it would be to try and get her to cooperate if she didn’t want to. 

She’s emptied the cup of water, and Tim hears it bounce off of the bottom of the trash can. 

He doesn’t know what else to do for her, so he turns to leave again, let her get some more rest. 

“Stay?” It’s almost the same moment as last time, the two overlapping in Tim’s mind, but her voice sounds a little stronger now. “Please? Until I wake up, so … so I’m not all by myself?” 

By the end of the request, the confidence has seeped out of her tone. Tim turns to look at her, lying in the center of his bed, and sees that she’s pulled the comforter up to her chest and left her hands balled around the edge. She looks miserable, and he knows that he’ll do whatever he can to make her feel even a little bit better, if only to get her to stop looking at him like he kicked her kitten. 

So he sighs, like she’s asking the world of him, like he has a thousand things he’d rather be doing right now, and opens the door anyway. Lucy whimpers, and he calls over his shoulder. 

“Fine, let me go get my phone and grab a book.” He’s back quickly, holding a bottle of water and a paperback novel. “Scootch.” 

Lucy moves over and he settles himself on the open side of the bed, leaning against the headboard and flipping the book open to where he left off. 

“Ooh, can you read to me?” She’s whispering, and her eyes flutter closed as he looks at her out the corner of his eye. “My dad always read to me when I got sick.” 

“Not sure true crime is the best relaxation material, Boot.” He waits for her to open her eyes again, holds the cover in her line of vision so she can see that he’s reading about a mob boss from the 20s. 

“Please?” She stretches the word into at least six syllables. “You’ll be my favorite training officer _ever_.” 

That’s not what sells him; he knows she’ll be riding with him until she graduates, that he’ll lock in his ranking as favorite by teaching her how to be a great cop. But she’s lying there, staring up at him, and really, it’s not _that_ big an ask. 

He sighs again, scanning the page for where he left off. 

“Alright, so Vito just fled to Italy, after murdering one of his cronies. He’s running a black market in Naples with a couple of other mobsters …" Tim trails off, finishing his context and looking for a good starting point to read out loud. 

(He might not be a visual learner, but he’s always been fascinated with crime history, and as long as he doesn’t have to regurgitate the information on an exam, he’ll read whatever true crime he can find. Once upon a time, he thought it would make him a better cop. Now he knows that on-the-job experience will take care of that, but there’s nothing like a good mafia story to round out his evening.) 

But before he can start speaking again, Lucy mumbles something that stops him. 

“What, Boot? Say it again.” He rests the book across one of his thighs and waits for her response. 

“We need to talk later, so I can tell you how nice you’re being.” Her words are slurred thick with sleep, and Tim knows there’s a good chance she won’t remember what she’s saying when she’s had some rest. But he also knows that people are at their most honest when they’re like this, unfiltered with something on their minds. “You’d better be careful, or I’ll fall in love with you.” 

Well. Of all the things he’d been expecting out of his rookie’s mouth, this was so far down the list that it didn’t even make it on the paper. She yawns and snuggles in a little further, seemingly unaware of how she’s stopped Tim’s world in its tracks as she lets sleep drag her under a little further. She’s not asleep yet, he can tell, or not as deeply as she was on their first overnight shift, when he slammed the car door and she didn’t even stir. 

But as he looks at her, making herself so comfortable in his space that it’s almost like he can’t remember a time when she wasn’t there, he thinks for a fleeting second that maybe she’s not wrong. 

Maybe he could fall in love with her too. 

Not yet, not when he hasn’t even known her a year; when they’ve hardly spent any time together outside of work; and even then, it’s been in a group setting. But down the line, when they know each other a little bit better, when her career with the LAPD is a little more established? 

Yeah, he can see himself falling for his badass rookie with the softest heart he’s ever seen. 

But he can’t say that now. Not when she’s still training, and not until he knows for sure if it’ll happen or not. So he picks the book back up and finds his place. 

“Hush, Lucy. You want me to read or not?” She nods, without opening her eyes, and brings a tired hand up to mime locking her lips, then flicks an imaginary key across the room and shifts again. This time, she settles further down the bed, and her temple ends up pressed against his thigh. “We’ll talk when you wake up.” 

She nods again, and Tim turns his gaze to the pages between his fingers, telling her all about Vito and his run-ins with the Italian military police. He focuses on the words, not letting himself think about the heat radiating up his leg from the spot where her head rests. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop! Celebrating moving out of a very problematic apartment by posting chapter two!

Sure enough, three days later, Tim wakes up with a rolling stomach ache and starts his day by hurrying to kneel in front of the toilet. 

It's his day off, but he texts Lucy anyway. 

_Told you I’d get sick Boot_

He doesn’t send anything else, and she doesn’t reply, but it’s not half an hour before Tim is dragging himself to the front door, not even bothering to put a shirt over his burning hot torso. 

The lock releases under his thumb and he pulls the door back to reveal Lucy standing on his front porch with a bag of groceries in each hand. 

“Hey, I figured this was the least I could do, after you took such good care of me the other day and all. I, uh, there’s soup and Gatorade, and some popsicles – I wasn’t sure what you like when you’re sick, but all of it’s pretty light. Oh, saltines, some Sprite-” 

He cuts her off. 

“Enough with the food talk, for the love of God, Chen, it’s like you want me to yak again.” He doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up, but she takes a step back anyway. 

“Sorry. I just … I thought when you texted that you might like some company. Being sick isn’t fun,” She chuckles pathetically. “I should know.” 

“It’s not that bad; pretty sure it’s the same 24-hour bug you had.” He closes the front door and tries to hide that he’s supporting his weight with it. “I’ll knock back some Nyquil, sleep it off today, be back on top tomorrow for shift.” 

“As long as you’ve got a plan.” She crosses the space and puts the bags on the kitchen island. “Go, get your sleep. I’ll wake you up for lunch.” 

“What?” He tries to sound angry, but between the throbbing in his head and the fatigue, he’s pretty sure it actually comes off as a low groan. 

“You didn’t actually think I’m just going to let you suffer alone all day?” She rolls her eyes. “You took care of me last week, now it’s my turn. Seriously, go crash. I brought my laptop and a book, I’ll be fine.” 

He's too tired to argue with her, and the pull of his bed is too strong for him to resist, so he relents. On his way to his room, Tim kicks the door closed, but ignores the way it stays cracked a couple of inches as he flops back down on top of the covers, too fever-hot to want anything covering him. 

* * *

There’s no telling how long Tim is passed out for, but he wakes up disoriented. He was sleeping deeply, but the raucous clattering from the kitchen is too loud for him to ignore. He groans and rolls to his side, folding a pillow to cover his ears, but it’s no match for the slamming cabinets and rattling dishes. 

He only lasts a couple of minutes before rolling his eyes and standing up. The air in the room is cold on his skin now, and he shivers with a chill as he reaches to grab a hoodie from his drawer. The room tilts when he stands up too fast, and he ends up sat back on the foot of the bed, waiting for it to still while he pulls the shirt on and prays the infernal banging will stop so he can go back to sleep. 

It doesn’t, though, and his head only throbs harder with each passing second, so he pulls the door open and trudges out to the kitchen. 

“Trying to toss the place, Boot? Good stuff’s in the bathroom.” Lucy jumps when he starts talking behind her, clearly having missed his quiet appearance. 

“Tim! N-no, I’m just … I was going to heat up soup. But I don’t know which cabinet your pans are in, so I was … looking for one, and I found dishes, and mixing bowls, and a couple of skillets, but I couldn’t find a good pan for soup, so you could have some …” She trails off. “Wait … aren’t you asleep?” 

“I _was_ ,” he glares pointedly at her. “Until I had to come see what this racket was.” 

Tim pushes off the wall and steadies himself on the island, reaching around Lucy to open a cabinet underneath it and pull out a stock pot. 

“Try this. Spoons are in the second drawer; silverware’s one over. Bowls in the top cupboard.” It comes out as a series of staggered mutters, but Lucy is able to follow his instructions well enough to stack everything on the counter. 

“Seriously, Tim.” She nudges him by the shoulder, steers him toward his room. “Go lay back down. I’ll bring your soup in when it’s done.” 

He rolls his eyes, but listens. 

“There’d better be crackers with it.” His attempt at humor is as weak as his body feels, but Lucy is kind enough to chuckle anyway. 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” 

He hears the sleeve of saltines rustling as he drops back onto the mattress. 

* * *

He’s not watching the clock, but it’s not long before Lucy nudges the door open with her shoulder, carefully balancing two bowls in her hands. 

Tim hasn’t made it back to sleep yet, propped up against the headboard, but his eyes are glazed over enough that her outline is blurry as she crosses the room and sets one bowl on the bedside table to jostle his shoulder with her free hand. 

“Hey, you gonna be able to hold this?” 

He glares at her with as much irritation as he can muster. 

“I’m a grown man and a cop, Boot. I think I can hold a bowl of soup.” 

Lucy eyes him dubiously, but sets the bowl in his outstretched hands, and says she’ll be right back with drinks. 

She’s barely out of the room when he tries to adjust his hold on the bowl, but only manages to spill a third of it down his front. Instinctively, he yelps when the hot liquid soaks through his sweatshirt, and he can immediately hear Lucy call out to him. 

“Tim? What happened? Are you alright?” She’s back in the doorway, tossing two bottles of Gatorade onto the end of the bed and rushing to his side to take the bowl from him. 

“Fine,” he’s gritting his teeth, and swatting her hand away when she reaches out to help him. “It’s fine, just grab me a clean hoodie, would you? Third drawer.” 

She sets his soup on the table and opens the drawer, pulling out a navy hoodie and holding it just out of his reach. 

“Hang on, take the dirty one off first so you don’t get this one all messy. Less laundry to do this way.” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“Sure you’re not just trying to see me with my shirt off?” 

“If I wanted that, I’d offer to run you a bath. Now c’mon, soup’s getting cold.” 

There’s a brief staring match, which Tim knows he could win under ordinary circumstances. But he’s too drained to deal with it today, so he carefully rolls the bottom of his soiled hoodie up, pulling it over his head and handing it to Lucy. She passes him the clean one and disappears to the bathroom. 

He can hear the sink start running and knows she’s rinsing the soup out, before it can stain his sweatshirt. 

When she comes back, she stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, clearly sizing something up. 

“Hang on …” then she’s gone to the kitchen, and comes back carrying one of his barstools. 

“What’re you doing with that?” He’s adjusting the bottom of the clean sweatshirt, but looks up to glare at her. 

“You don’t have any little trays, and clearly you can’t hold your soup while you eat it. So I brought this, for you to use as a table.” 

_Of course she did_. 

But, in line with the theme for today, he’s too tired to argue, so he lets her pull the stool over to his side of the bed and move the soup bowl over to it. 

“C’mon, sit up.” She holds a hand out to help him, but he scoffs and makes a show of dragging himself further upright. 

If he has to stop for a second and let the room stop spinning, neither of them say anything about the way his knuckles go white where he’s gripping the edge of the stool. 

He eats slowly, leaving time between each bite to make sure it’s settling OK, but picks his way through most of the bowl, leaving the celery chunks behind. 

Once both bowls are otherwise empty, Lucy stands up from where she’d perched herself cross-legged at the end of the bed and stacks them together, pulling the stool toward the wall before she sits back down. 

“What? You’re not doing the dishes?” 

“Not yet, I’ll get them before I leave though. Not going to stick you with a dirty sink when you already don’t feel well.” She pauses, considering. “How are you feeling after eating?” 

“I’ll live, and I don’t think I’m going to upchuck, if that's what you’re asking.” He rolls his neck and looks up at her. “Think I’m gonna sleep another 12 or so hours, should be over the worst of it.” 

Lucy grimaces at the popping from his joints, but she shifts up the bed to mirror how he’s sitting against the headboard. 

“What’re you doing, Chen?” She looks over at him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet,” she responds plainly, reaching for the book that she’s apparently stashed on his bedside table without him noticing. 

“Wasn’t the question.” 

“Thought I’d read a little bit.” She waves her book in his direction, like it should have been obvious. “Caught up on social media this morning; I could go for a quiet afternoon.” She knows it’s not the answer he’s looking for; he can tell by the glint in her eye. 

“In my bed?” 

“Very astute, Officer Bradford.” He can see her physically holding back her laughter. 

“And why are you reading in here?” He sighs, fatigue setting in, but not yet enough to override his curiosity or force him into sleep. 

“Oh, that?” She shrugs, and he starts trying to figure out how many pushups she’s going to have to do for taking this sort of attitude with her training officer. “Figured I’d keep you some company. Don’t feel like you have to entertain me, though.” 

She opens the book, sliding her bookmark to the back cover and running her eyes over the page. Tim stares, wondering if she’s waiting for him to say something or just being stubborn. 

The pages turn once, twice, before she looks over at him, where he’s still watching her. 

“Do you want to hear the story? Two office aides who work for rival departments of the same company are about to go on their first dinner date. Only he is going to try and use it for recon on the opposition, but she is genuinely interested in dating him.” 

Tim rolls his eyes. He can’t think of a dryer story, hasn’t even touched the book and can tell you that she’s going to find out, they’re going to fight, and they’ll both realize they’ve been in love the whole time. Romance novels are a half a step from drivel, in his opinion, and he really doesn’t care about the beginning, middle or end of a book he wouldn’t pick up if it were the last thing he hadn’t read on the planet. 

But none of that matters, when Lucy is sitting here, taking care of him, not letting him push her away. He’s good at pushing people away, and it’s always a surprise when someone pushes back and makes room for themselves in his life. It’s only been 10 months, and he’s as surprised as Lucy looks when he opens his mouth to respond. 

“If you’re going to make me watch you read, I might as well get to listen too.” It’s not quite a ‘yes,’ but it’s also not Tim kicking her out of his room, or out of his house, so they’re both a little shocked. 

Lucy shakes her head and the surprise disappears. Then she’s smiling at him and turning back two pages. 

“Here, I’ll start the chapter over. They’re at a really nice restaurant, not too far from the office complex they work at.” 

He closes his eyes, but doesn’t turn his head away from her when she starts reading. Her voice is gentle, the words floating across the space between them as he tries and fails to keep up with what she’s saying. 

Even hearing it out loud, Tim can’t follow the plot of the story; his brain is too foggy. But he’s paying just enough attention to interrupt when Lucy pauses between paragraphs. 

“Your voice is good for reading, you know. Don’t think I ever said that after you made the audiobook.” His voice is scratchy, his throat still sore from throwing up earlier, and he’s on the edge of sleep. But he means it, and when she doesn’t respond, his sleep-addled mind elaborates. “Gentle and quiet. Terrible for serving warrants, but good for reading.” 

She still doesn’t say anything, but he feels the mattress shift under her movement and hears the bed covers rustle. 

Finally, she clears her throat, and Tim could be mistaken, but he thinks he can hear a little bit of a smile in her tone. 

“Shh, we’ll talk when you wake up.” The book pages crinkle and she starts reading again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Questions? Let me knowwwww!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue. Lucy gets sick again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay attention, there's a pop quiz at the end!

Almost exactly eight months later, Lucy gets the flu. She’s pretty sure she caught it from a grimy kid at the station, running around to hug all of the police officers as he wiped his nose on his hand. He was sweet, but he’d sneezed almost directly in her face when she bent down. 

And three days later, she was laid up with aches and a fever. 

Tim takes her home from work again, with one key difference this time: he doesn’t take her to _his_ home, he takes her to _their_ home. 

It’s the same house as before, but her boxes have been unpacked for two months, since just a couple of weeks after he asked her to move in on their six-month anniversary. 

This time, he drops by Grey’s office and tells him flat out that he needs to leave to take care of Lucy. The sergeant tells him to take as much time as they both need, to make sure that they don’t come back too soon and spread anything around the entire division. 

He takes her home and pulls a pair of her leggings out of the same drawer he loaned her sweatpants from the first time they did this. 

(He still helps her pull one of his own hoodies over her head, though.) 

Her favorite soup is in the cupboard, her favorite TV shows on his DVR. 

And this time, when he helps guide her back to bed – _their bed –_ after she throws up, he doesn't think twice about wiping the tears off of her face. 

“I know, we’re getting you through it though.” He tucks the covers around her feet and presses his palm to her forehead. “You’re not as hot as you were earlier.” 

“Gee, thanks.” She starts coughing, loud hacks that make Tim wince for how badly he knows her head already hurts. 

“Shut up, you know what I meant.” He grins and runs a hand down her braid. 

(It’s still just as lopsided as the first one, but sometimes Lucy lets him practice just for fun, so the sections are a little more even now). 

“Sit tight, I’ll go get you another round of NyQuil. You’re due for more in like 20 minutes anyway.” He turns to the bathroom, returning with two gel capsules and a paper cup of water and stands next to the side of the bed. He passes the medicine to Lucy, and stares at her until she drains the cup and looks back. 

“What?” 

“You’ll have to move over if you want me to sit with you.” She hasn’t asked this time, but he knows she’ll want the company. Lucy _always_ likes sitting in bed with him (she once described it as “her third favorite thing to do in bed, next to sleeping and … _sleeping”_ ), especially when she’s not feeling her best. 

His suspicions are confirmed when she grins at him and slides over to the center of the mattress. Tim is already wearing sweatpants and an LAPD tee, so he tucks himself under the covers next to her. 

He’s not surprised when she immediately tucks herself against his side, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders to stroke up and down her arm. She’s shaking lightly from the fever, so he reaches down with his free hand and pushes the blankets more snugly around her thighs. 

“Comfy?” Her head rests over his heart, and he sets his chin on top of it when she murmurs her assent. “Good.” 

Tim can feel the extra heat radiating off of Lucy’s body, and he can’t understand how she wants to be under the blankets, other than to know that fever chills do the same thing to him when he’s sick. So he holds her, waiting for the medication to kick in enough that she’ll be able to feel herself warming up again. 

They’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes when Tim feels Lucy shift against his chest. 

“Tim?” 

He looks down and brushes a stray piece of hair off of her forehead, more as an excuse to touch her than anything else. 

_Not that he needs a reason to do that now._

“Yeah, baby?” His lips brush across her face, following the same trail as his fingers, and he feels her smile against him. 

“Can you read to me?” 

“Can’t you read to yourself?” She can’t see him roll his eyes as he responds, but he can feel the grin on his face to rival hers, and there’s not an ounce of sincerity in his tone. 

“But I’m sick,” she drags the word through an entire breath and brings her arm up to wrap around his ribcage. “Besides, I like your voice.” 

_Damn, but she knows how to play him_. 

“C’mon, Boot, you know I can’t say no to you.” She’s three months out of academy, but ‘boot’ has stuck around, turning into a pet name for when Tim is trying to sound more irritated with Lucy than he actually is. “My book or the one you left on the couch the other night?” 

“Mmm,” she hesitates for a moment, weighing the options. “Yours? I’m going to fall asleep, and I don’t want to miss out on the coffee date scene.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” He chuckles, but leans over to pull his book from the nightstand, careful not to jostle Lucy any more than he has to. “You just don’t want me to have to get up and go get yours.” 

“That too.” She shrugs and looks up at him again as he opens the book. “Hey, Tim?” 

He can hear the sleep fraying the edges of her voice, her words starting to run together a bit. 

“Hmm?” He sticks a finger in the book to hold his page and runs the other hand along her arm until their fingers fit together. 

“I’m glad we talked last time. This is nice. Nice as the flu can be.” She’s almost asleep now, he can tell, but he leans down to kiss the top of her head anyway. 

“Yeah, me too, Boot.” She rotates her hand to press their palms together and yawns against his chest. “I love you, you know?” 

He knows she knows, tells her every chance he gets. Life is too short not to, especially in their line of work, and it does something to him every time her face lights up when she hears it, makes his heart soar, no matter the circumstances. 

“Love you too.” Her eyes close, and he’s pretty sure she’s passed out almost right away. He opens the book anyway, keeping his voice low and quiet as he lets the gentle rumble of his voice lull her into a deeper sleep as he holds her while her fever breaks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, who counted the most parallels between this and the first two chapters? Because I spent WAY TOO LONG weaving things back in here lol


End file.
